


Red and Green

by BloodyBlackCat1313



Category: Kick Ass - Fandom
Genre: Crazy, Dark, It Gets Worse, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, My First Fanfic, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Not Beta Read, Possessive Behavior, Screw Happy Endings, Self-Mutilation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7863190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyBlackCat1313/pseuds/BloodyBlackCat1313
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My mind races with perverted thoughts of him all the time, even sense day one, what can I say… he was, and is utterly perfect. This boy who’s personally filled my nights with wet dreams, is now perched on a chair with his bare bottom and other genetic assets on display. The sad thing of it all, is that I don’t even know his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What red, black, blue, green, and MINE?

 

He looks to me; I can practically bathe in the fear that emanates from his frail body. His tattered mask reveals a sharp jaw line along with a few more wisps of blond hair, that usually remain hidden under his mask. Blood crusts over a few of the wounds scattered a crossed his face, while the fresh cuts have a continuous stream of the lovely crimson liquid. So many emotions flash through his gorgeous blue eyes... while he glares at me; fear being the most dominate out of the mesmerizing mixture. I only feel a tinge of guilt surface from my growing list of betrayal, starting from the death of Hit Girl, and Big Daddy’s mental lapse to his last moments; None of matter now that I have him though. My mind races with perverted thoughts of him all the time, even since day one, what can I say… he was, and is utterly perfect. This boy who’s personally filled my nights with wet dreams, is now perched on a chair with his bare bottom and other genetic assets on display. The sad thing of it all, is that I don’t even know his name.

As Bobby hooks up the electrodes to the boy’s testicles, Kick Ass quietly asks “Dude, please. What are you going to do to me?” The **real** question here is, what am I not going to do to you.

 

I wait a moment before responding to the stupid question. “Me?” I point to myself acting koi. “Oh, I’m just going to watch.” That is, at least for now. “But this guy is Bobby Ball-Buster and he’s going to electrocute your testicles,” I give a grandiose gesture to a massive man sporting a gray hoody... who seems to be getting all too acquainted with my ex-partner in-crime’s balls, “until you tell him everything you know… about them.” I cringe at the thought that maybe Kick Ass preferred the pair of vigilantes over yours truly. “Now, I know you don’t know shit, but my dad wants to be sure…” The half-naked boy seems so concerned with each word that slips from my lips.  “… and if I’m absolutely honest, I’ve wanted to see you in pain since the first night we met. I’ve even jerked off about it.” I press my lips against the teen cladded in a green diving suit’s lips. My hands hook around his jawline so I can force his head any which way I please. I bring my lips to the side of his face and lick the shell of his ear, just before whispering the question, “Does... that sound weird?” Kick Ass sniffles, his eyes have begun to water, while he pitifully shakes his head side to side as if to say 'no'.

 

“Everyone back.” Bobby states out firmly to the occupants of the room, reluctantly I oblige. It’s such a shame to not enjoy the beaten and battered boy.

         “Je-Jesus!” Kick Ass screams at the top of his lungs. His body jerks in pain, his jolts become more frequent as the voltage is increased. Tears, snot, and blood paint his face; I still find this dumb-ass appealing no matter how gross he appears to be at the moment. My pants grow tighter with each of his cries. “I… I… I’ll tell you anything! I’ll do anything!” He sobs out the words haphazardly, not possibly considering what they truly meant.

         “...Anything?” I repeat the word in a sing-song manner. It's an enticing offer that I so graciously will accept.

“Yes! Just stop, please… stop” Each one of his pleads is intoxicating; the sweet song of his surrender paired with his heart warming helplessness is almost enough to make me melt.

         I raise my hand, signaling Bobby to stop tormenting my victim. Bobby hesitates to follow my directions, and unfortunately reveals his arousal as he nears the boy’s body. Once Bobby unhooks the electrodes from the boy, with two shot from my forty-five, I end his life. Kick Ass’s eyes grow wide while he stares down at the limp pile of flesh, what used to be Bobby-the-ball-buster, that is oozing an ungodly amount of blood all over the floor. “Tell me your name. Oh… and you should think twice about giving me some fake ass name… unless you want end up like good old ball-buster here.” I kick the lifeless sack of flesh to highlight my point, but honestly it might just be an empty threat for my ex-partner-in-crime. (or should I say ex-partner-against-crime?)

For a solid ten seconds, the boy weighs out the pros and cons of lying at this moment. “It's Dave… Lizewski.” He shutters after revealing this valuable information, that he has withheld from me for so long.

         “Your going to be my bitch, Dave.” I can’t help but purr out his name. Dave seems like such a fitting name for him; it’s different but not too adverse, or something overly masculine, like Butch.

In amusement I watch Dave’s face gradually grow red with rage. “TO HELL I AM! YOU GREEDY COCK SUCKER!” Although I adore this kid’s usual spastic display of emotions, today it’s wearing my patience thin.

         Just so this little bitch knows his place I rip off the remaining shreds of his mask and pinch his nose,so he begins to gasp for air. Once his mouth shows the smallest hint of an opening, I shove my gun down his throat. “Dave,” I coo out, “that’s NOT what I like to hear. Now I really wouldn’t want to have to do anything too… drastic.” I shuffle my free hand through his messy locks, as he wallows in the fear from having a gun in his mouth. It’s really hot, his mouth latched onto a gun while tears stream down his face, and his broken eyes plead for me to end this. I can feel my erection growing to the point which it painfully throbs against the inseam of my pants. “Oh Dave... look what you’ve done now?” I click my tongue in a displeased manner.  Dave’s eyes look as large as saucers when he sees the growth in my crotch. “Well now, you’re going to have to fix this, aren’t you?” Gleefully I remove the gun and unlatch restraints holding the boy down. Immediately he attempts to make a b-line for the nearest exit, but violently I catch his wrist and whip his body to the floor. His knee caps crack as the make contact to the concrete floor, Dave lets out a heart wrenching yelp of pain. “Nice fucking try.” I mumble out sarcastically. “Now be a good boy, Dave, and act like the fucking bitch you are. Say ‘Me so horny me love you long time,’ or… ya know I could just bust a cap in your head.” The threats work seamlessly.

Dave slumps his head down as he murmurs, “Me so horny, me love you long time.” With those words I happily unlatch my belt, and strip off my leather costume. I catch him ogling my torso; unlike his beautifully smooth body, I actually have bulging muscles rippling across my body. After peeling off the remaining pieces of the costume, I grip a handful of Dave’s blond locks to tilt his head back.

 

“Yeah, you will.” Eagerly I jam my dick into his throat. “Dave I’m going to say this once, if you even think about biting me right now I will personally take pride in cutting your balls off; am I clear?” I know he can’t give a proper answer with my dick in his mouth and all, but he still manages to gurgle out something that sounds vaguely like a yes. Dave starts off very slowly teasing the tip of my member, his tongue creeps down the slit at a tantalizingly slow rate, but then he starts to cup my balls. I probably sound like a porn star at the moment with my head thrown back, and all the moans I spout out. My staff fills the entirety of his mouth, his tongue hardly has any room to move at all, nevertheless he manages to work his tongue around my shaft as he caresses my balls. I spy down at Kick Ass’s lap and from what I can tell Dave is turned on by this scenario as well. I try to praise Dave for his masterful skill by saying, “I guess your a veteran at sucking cock.” The minute Dave’s face burns a bright pink at my comment, I can feel something drop in my stomach; this isn't something new to him. Violently I jam the whole of my length down his throat, just fucking his face as fast as I can. “Who?” I whisper in a grim tone, knowing very well that the boy wouldn't be able to answer me at the moment. “WHO!? WHO!? WHO!?” I probably sound like a fucking owl about now. Each time I ask the question I thrust my dick further down his throat. “WHO else did you let fuck this slutty little mouth of yours!?” By the time I’ve finished this sentence I finally hit my climax, and withdraw my favorite appendage from the boy’s mouth. White seeps out from his mouth. Dave only tries to gasp for air; my anger must have gotten the better of me, because I was two seconds away from destroying my favorite toy. “Dave, when I ask you a question YOU ANSWER. Who did you allow to fuck your face?”

            He coughs up some of the cum. I watch in awe as water wells up in his eyes, once it over fills his tears begin to trickle down his battered face and then plummet into the tiles of the floor. His face droops, shielding himself from the embarrassment of being seen wallowing in sorrow. Weakly he asks, “What’s it matter to you?” Just by hearing those annoying quizzical words of rebuttal, I am enraged.

            I grab his hair, loving the feeling of the silky locks under my fingertips, and whisper in his ear, “Well you see, I **really** don’t like it when others touch my stuff.” My fingers slither down from his tangle of hair, to coil around his slender neck. My hands constricts around his neck so hard they squeeze out the air from his entire body. “I’m sure I’ve made this clear to you. Now tell me, WHO USED YOU SO FREELY!?”

            “He’s… he’s gone… now.” Dave chokes out the sentence along with a number of adorable whimpers. His nails scratch frantically at my hands. He gasps, gaps, and gravels for air beneath the clasp of my fingers. “Big… Da…ddy.” I relinquish my hold on his neck the second he sputters out the dreadful name. Dave only begins to tear up more when he calls out the dead man’s name. His waterworks seem to be ceaseless, regardless I wait for it to end, but Dave being the poor soul that he is ended up crying himself to sleep. I manage to scoop up his frail body, and take to the upper floor-- my apartment.

 

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is the first fan-fiction I'v made, so tell me what you think... unless you absolutely hate it. If anyone has any suggestions, I'm all ears 

 


	2. Red Fog

 

Dave is awoken by a gruff voice, in the distance, asking, “Are you gay? I mean this whole time, did you just want a fuck-buddy?” This question isn’t meant for him however, but someone just a wall away from the unfamiliar room Dave resides in. The room’s ginormous; with its raised ceilings, towering walls and humungous windows--that display a very memorable cityscape. Dave notices that he's but naked, he has been stripped of his Kick Ass costume, not one thread of clothing covers him; the only thing that is covering the boy is a thin black silk sheet, that threatens to slip off his frame, and a pair of shackles that cling snuggly to his ankles. To Dave’s dread, it dawns on him, he has no fucking idea as to where he is. At least it’s apparent that his is in New York, judging by the view from the window. It's also obvious, that he is in some rich asshole’s apartment. Dave's thoughts are disrupted by the voice, coming from the room over, that continues to carry out the seemingly one-sided conversation. “I’ve had my fair share of fucking other men too, but for the soul purpose of engraving fear into the mother-fucking bitch that dare cross a D'Amico.”

_-Shit I’m in fucking hell, yup that’s where I am. John fucking D'Amico, the most renown mob boss in New York; God has to hate every fiber of my being for me to end up here. -_

He pauses for a moment, “What’s this thing you have going on? Chris, do you enjoy screwing nut-jobs, men, or whatever else; is this just some weird phase?” The man sounds genuinely curious.

A calm voice, that is oddly haunting to Dave, inters the discussion. “I’m bored. Honest to god I’m not sure why I did this.” The other participant of the conversation stops to think of a justification.  “Fucking prostitutes has gotten boring. Maybe… I am gay.” Chris concedes reluctantly. His father didn’t mean to ask the question as a legitimate suggestion, to the boy’s sexuality, but more as a cruel joke.

“I don’t give two shits as to, who or what your fucking. Just don’t make this my problem and they’ll be able to see the light of another day.” The mob boss finally decides to end the uncomfortable chat and exits room. Just before he leaves the doorway and Chris in his wake he stops to add in, “Chris… I am proud of you; so I'll let this slide.” The uncharacteristically kind words leave his son completely stunned.

Chris immediately takes a trip to his bedroom, eager to see what lays on his bed. The quick sound of his footsteps leading up to the room alarms Dave. Chris flings the door open, slams into the wall where its hinges meet up with, and produces a loud dull thud. He stands in the doorway, looking like that cat who caught the canary, beaming a disarming smile at the nude body sprawled out on the bed. Chris D’Amico, a mere stranger to Dave (or so he thinks), stands confidently sporting a plain red t-shirt and pair of black skinny jeans. Slowly Chris traces an out-line of Dave’s body with his ravenous eyes. Dave studies Chris face for a fraction of a moment; He is met with the same chocolate brown eyes, the same 12 o’clock shadow, and the same stupidly-happy expression that Red Mist would have whenever he saw Kick-Ass. Although he was slow to put the pieces together, he finally realizes that Chris D’Amico and Red Mist are one in the same. Dave’s nostrils are invaded by the scent of the lingering odor of weed and cologne, as Chris’s musk wafts through out the room; oddly enough he doesn’t completely detest the smell. Dave doesn’t dare to say a word; this is the man who had shot a ten-year-old girl, this is the man who had raped his mouth, this is the man who cause Big Daddy to die. “Looks like you’ll be stay here, for nothing short of… forever.” Chris laughs hysterically at his own words, not because they were particularly funny, but because he is overjoyed with the notion that he now owns Kick Ass. These word easily get to Dave, he feels himself growing nauseous with every word that Chris spews out.

 Chris into letting him go. “You should probably let me go soon. This is getting kind of weird... I mean friends don't do stuff like this. Aren't we friends?” Dave searches the eyes of his ex-partner for an ounce of empathy, unfortunately none can be salvaged from the wreckage of Chris’s distorted mind.

Panic arises in Dave’s mind he has run out of ideas to aid him in any means of escape; the only thing that remains is trying to guilt“Dave,” he calls out the name darkly, “we were never friends... I never wanted to be your **friend**. I thought that much was clear by now” He makes his way to the bed, only to drape himself over Dave’s exposed body. The way he says “friend” is enough to make Dave cringe.

 

“Never?” It’s hard for Dave to conceive that Red Mist or Chris never thought of him as a friend, when considering how close they had been; A few days ago Dave would have gone so far as to say that Red Mist was his best friend. Chris doesn’t bother to give a proper acknowledgment to the question, he just simply nods his head once.

“I kind-of hate you.” Oddly enough as he states this while stroking Dave’s arms lovingly. Dave squirms under each touch, his mind is slowly but surely sent into a blur with the soft sensation. Wherever Chris's fingers trail across the sensitive skin of Dave’s body a burning touch follows in its wake.“Because, you’re really stupid. Jumping into a fire, to save a CAT, for fucks sake Dave,” Chris nuzzles his nose into the crook of Dave’s neck, “do you ever think, even once have you ever thought to use your brain?” Chris’s tongue drags across Dave’s neck, its so warm and wet; he suckles on the tender skin, making a few marks to claim Dave as his own. Once finished making marks he peers down to admire his handy work, he notices a handful of hickeys littering his love’s neck. “Letting some old ass man fuck your mouth… instead of me; I wonder... just how far did you let him go?” Chris sighs out the question fueled by anger and a splash of remorse; solemnly he blushes his fingers across the hickeys he didn’t make.

Dave feels no need to justify his actions to this asshole, but for some reason when he mentioned Big Daddy ...Dave wanted nothing more than to rip out his tongue. “But—” With inhuman speed Chris slams his lips into Dave’s; slaughtering Dave's chance to speak. Chris's 12 o’clock shadow scratches the blond’s face do to the uncomfortably close proximity they’re in. The kiss isn’t anything special, it’s the type of kiss your mother and father slyly sneak in when they finally see each other after a long day; it's just a peck on the lip.

He removes his lips from Dave’s. “Open.” He demands curtly. Obviously his partner is opposed to his request; its shown by the way Dave immediate shake his head. “Open.” He snarls out the word, once more, while his chocolate brown eyes burrow into the blond’s blue ones. Chris hooks his finger on Dave's bottom lip, but it's a fruitless attempt to pry open the shut mouth. Again Dave has chosen to disobey the unreasonable order. “Fine,” he huffs out the word as if it were poisonous, “have it your way.”  A thumb and an index finger squeeze Dave’s nose shut; cutting off the air flow. Sadly, Kick Ass can only manage to hold his breath for a little over 30 seconds; Dave is not confident if he’ll pass out or anything, but he sure as hell doesn’t want to risk it, so he complies. “See,” Chris croons out in a velvety voice, “that wasn’t so hard.”

_-I feel like a four-year-old being praised for shitting in the toilet by myself.-_

 Without wasting any time Chris’s mouth latches onto Dave’s own before he can even get the chance to fully catch his breath; thankfully Chris is aware of this and removes his grip on Kick Ass’s nose. His tongue slithers around Dave's mouth as if to fight for dominates in the already occupied area; Dave chooses not to participate in the battle, knowing that it wouldn’t matter even if he won. From the constant strokes of Chris's hands burning across Dave’s skin to the heated kiss, Dave's head has become foggy as he reluctantly moan into this pervert’s mouth.


	3. Blemishes of Black and Cuts of Crimson

       

         His skin is so soft, his mouth is so warm, and his hair is as smooth as silk. His ocean blue eyes are just as enticing, as the other beautiful aspects of the hero, on their own. The feeling of Dave's harmonious moans vibrating against Chris’s mouth, is as addicting as the feeling he gets from just petting Dave's hair. The hero smells of iron, you know that scent blood gives off. Dave’s eyes are squeezed shut, and his body is trembling. Each shutter and quake is earned by a measly caress against his rib cage or near his hip bone. The thrill of fondling the hero, maybe an endless amusement for Chris. The villain detaches himself from Dave’s swollen lips, Chris hopelessly plants handfuls of tender kisses on Dave’s forehead and cheeks; The hero’s eyes flutter open, he looks up to Chris with a dumbfounded and lustful expression painted over his face.

        The second he realizes his mouth is free, of a certain villain's lips, he says, “I hate you.” It seems like a half-hearted statement, considering how he’s begun to show signs of arousal in-between his thighs.

        The villain complete disregards weather the statement holds any truth to it. Chris eagerly grounds his hips against the hero’s semi-erect dick. “...Really?” he purrs out.

        Dave bites down on his lip to hold back a groan, but adorably fails in the effort. “N-nnnh no!”

        “That’s what I thought.” Chris continues his exploration of the uncharted areas of creamy skin, that's shielded by only a thin sheet. While looking down on the luscious layer of skin, a sinister idea comes into formation to the dreadfully dark minded villain. “Hold tight.” He whispers to Dave and then shortly excuses himself from the room. Chris scavenges the oversized apartment; in search of his father’s favorite surgical steel switch blade and an extra restraint or two. Dave is terrified, angry, and horny all at once as he patiently waits for Chris to come back. The villain is quick to return; he bares a boner, a switch blade along with a restraint in his left hand, and in his right a glass of water.

        “What’s that?” He bravely asks while quaking hysterically. The villain places the glass of water on the night stand closest to Dave along with the switch blade; he gingerly flips Dave onto his belly and claims both of the hero’s wrists by confining them in a single restraint that slowly cuts off Dave’s circulation—Chris doesn’t pay any mind to that though.

        Once again Chris takes the black switch blade into his hands. “oh this… it’s a present.” The villian gingerly flings open the blade “oh, and if you fuck this up, in any way, we’re going to start all over.”

        Dave swallows his breath and nods, while holding back each and every tear that threats to fall from his eyes. The only feeling present in the hero's mind is the searing pain of the metal invading his body, from the blade that dips deeply into his skin. The slicing started in-between his shoulder blades, slanting down towards the bottom of his rib cage. Three other painfully large lines are made with the same proportions; forming what feels like a diamond to Dave.

        “Your doing so WELL! We’re half way done.” Chris throws in a praise, just to assure Dave that his torment is coming to an end. There are only four more significantly smaller incisions to make in order to form a M. Once the villain finalizes his work he says, “Drink this.” Chris gives the hero a glass of water that had been sitting on the night stand. The water in the glass is murky, obviously its been diluted by some foreign substance. It doesn’t matter to Dave, if the drink is laced with any sort of drug; he eagerly downs the contents of the cup, hoping and praying it will numb the intolerable pain of his bleeding back. He knows, as he drifts into unconsciousness, he knows what’s bound to happen next.

        Dave sputters out the words, “I …wish… you’d… die” Before the drug can kick in and render him a mumbling mess; drifting into slumber. In some twisted way this was the equivalent to love in Chris’s eyes.

        Dave Lizewski is his and his alone. The mere thought of someone touching, grinding, tainting his Dave is infuriating, and rightly so after all Dave can’t even defend himself from the creepy over-aged men prowling the street for vulnerable boys; men like Big Daddy. Carving into Dave’s porcelain flesh isn’t some senseless game for Chris, but a tragic act of love brought on by fate’s cruel hand. If Chris could’ve had it his way, Big Daddy would've been shot in an alleyway, with his body never to be found. Chris did feel some gratitude to the odd pervert, protecting the streets,… he did give Red Mist the opportunity to meet Kick Ass.

        “Sleep tight hero.” Chris whispers the loving words to Dave, who’s still trying to fight off the z’s, he watches the boy lose the battle of remaining awake. Yet another way to claim Dave has unraveled itself to Chris. In all honesty Chris didn’t think about taking Dave in his sleep, but now with the opportunity presenting itself to him— _why the hell not?_ The villain unlatches the restraint that had been clenching Dave’s now purple wrists together.

_–shit, I knew I forgot something. —_

        Black bruises coat each of the hero’s wrists, along with a few cuts from the leather chaffing his skin frequently. Although the indirect wounds, he had bestowed upon the sleeping boy, are disheartening he continues to dispose of his own clothes. He slowly draws a breath, as he aligns the head of his dick with Dave’s entrance. Chris doesn’t bother to apply lube, or prepare the resting body for being defiled by a dick for the first time. He enters the hero’s body way to easily; the fire burning in his stomach grows hotter along with his rage and stabbing arousal. The hero’s hole is too loose for Chris’s liking; it’s been used and stretched to the proportions only a prostitute could have. Chris sadistically whips the back of his hand on Dave’s back, “WHY. ARE. YOU. SUCH. A. SLUT!” He punctuates every word with a slap to Dave’s frail, and frame each slap is harder than its precursor. Chris is enraged by the fact that his Dave’s hole isn’t clingling tightly to his thick cock. He is frustrated that he won’t get to feel the full effect of Kick Ass’s ass engulfing his dick in warmth; He is furious that it wasn’t him, who got to abuse Dave’s ass into becoming this loose hole. Chris starts to penetrate Dave’s hole in a rapid motion, until finally allowing his seed to flood the boy’s warm and spacious cavern. He rides the throes of pleasure and then reluctantly withdraws his dick from Dave. Black bruises blossom all over Dave’s inanimate body; along with a dozen cuts forged from Chris's nails, clawing into the skin of the hero.

____________________________________________________~*`To be continued`*~_____________________________________________________________


	4. Fucking Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 紫紫 pers մանուշակագույն   
> ا لبنفسجي الأرجوانيলালচে বেগুনী   
> 보라색 제비꽃
> 
> שיר היום ... ג'ינגיס חאן ידי מיאיקה שלג . אני לא יודע מה לכתוב מסכם למה בחרתי לעשות משהו אקראי . נ.ב. אני לא יודע איך לדבר או לכתוב עברי 

          After screwing around with Dave, for the entire night, Chris finds the blond hair boy passed out at his side. It's a breath-taking moment for Chris. He's in love with the feeling of Dave’s arms wrapped around his torso, in love with the sound of Dave’s lovely light snores, in love the sight of all the blossoming bruises and the scabbing blood of the Red Mist insignia. It's perfect, but as with most perfect things... comes along something else to fuck it all up. Chris slips out from his bed and heads to the kitchen; sporting only black and red striped briefs. Out from an oversized pantry he pulls out a box of Coco-puffs. Then goes to the refrigerator and cabinets to retrieve a cereal bowl and some milk. After, dumping the contents of the cereal box and milk container into the bowl, he is met with the voice of a ghost.

         “Hi jackass,” Hit girl snidely says, “miss me?”

          _-This bitch must be Cat Woman; I should’ve shot her between the eyes, just like her father. -_

         “Like your dad? No, not really.” Chris has never been a social butterfly. That being the case, he normally chooses some pretty shitty thing to say, but this takes the cake. In 2 seconds flat, Chris is kneed in the balls, with the force of a WMB player, by a ten-year-old sporting a purple wig. Chris's face meets the floor, the villain coils into the fetal position, and cries out, “Fucking Bitch.”

         “Yeah, you are. Anyway, where the fuck is Dave!?” Her eyes lock on the sniveling piece of shit on the ground.

         “Who?” His eyes are a dead give away, or maybe Hit girl is just a fucking mind reader. Even hearing Dave’s name has an effect on the villain’s body. He lays slumped on the floor; wondering how awesome it would be if Dave wanted to stay with him... rather than going with Hit Girl—fat chance. After slicing the hero open, Dave made it pretty clear that he didn’t appreciate Chris’s gift.

         “You know goddamn well who... you, sick fucker. Kick Ass! The guy, in the green and yellow wetsuit, that you’ve had a boner for.”

          Out from Chris’s room a voice calls, “Min—Hit Girl!?” “Dave!” The ten-year-old looking girl calls out the name so gleefully. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?” She averts her attention back to the whimpering mess on the floor from her kidnapped friend. 

          "If you even think about moving right now, I’ll shoot your fucking brains across these lovely fucking granite floors; am I clear prick?” “…crystal.” Chris chokes out the words while trying to locate his gonads. “I have half a mind not to end you right now; just how you almost killed me.” She gives a crooked smile and leaves Chris D’Amico motionless on the floor.

          She saunters off to Chris’s room, the room where Dave has been kept for all this time; stopping in front of a shut door, she can hear a whimpering Dave sob out, “Don’t look at me… please don’t look at me.” Ignoring the plea, she turns the doorknob and enters the unknown territory. There chained to the bed, is the once enthusiastic amateur superhero, utterly broken. Purple marks shaped like fingers spiral around Dave’s wrist, shoulders, and hips. The tremoring body wields a great amount of damage; numerous cuts and bruises littering his pasty white skin. A collar of hickeys has been stained across his neck. The biggest concern it the giant M encircled in a diamond, carved into Dave’s back. He cradles his face in his hands; hiding from more embarrassment and abuse. He’s left bare, without one single article of clothing.

         “What fuck!” She snarls out like a rabid animal, “he did this to you! Right? …Right!? Say something.”

         “DON’T LOOK AT ME!” Dave’s piercing cry can be heard across the apartment easily. “please… just help me get home.” With a sigh, Mindy nods. In an attempt to appease Dave, she turns her head the other way. She moves to the black dresser, in Chris’s room, to retrieve a pair of basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt.

         “Dave, I’m going to have to look at you. You realize that don’t you?” Dave just nods, “Okay, good.” She begins to pick the locks that chain Dave’s legs to the bed post. “Done. Your officially half way out of hell.” She says in a cheery tone once she hears the second lock click open. “Now put this on.” Immediately Dave follows the instructions without wasting any time in clothing himself. “Let’s take the fire escape down… does that sound good?” Dave nods eagerly, his tear stained face looking slightly more alive. “Alright.” They scale down the fire escape, rapidly and then mount a matt purple motorcycle. Mindy starts the engine of the bike.

       Dave looks into the side mirrors of the bike to peer at his current complexion. While staring at his unfamiliar reflection; it dawns on him, his father wouldn’t handle his current state very well. "I can't go home like this... can I?”

         “Nope. I thought you could gather a few things and leave your father a note or something—telling your dad that you have to stay at a friend’s house or some shit like that. Then you can go stay with a friend, or there’s always the option of staying with me.”

         “Thank you,” Dave whispers his gratitude more to himself than to his savior. “I’ll always be happy to save your ass, Dave,” Mindy states this in a joking manner, but to Dave, these words are a comfort he’s never known. “hey… uh.” For an uncomfortable waiting period, Dave blathers out a few random words before forming a coherent sentence. “Why… didn’t you kill him? If I weren't shackled to the bed, I would have.”

          “No Dave, you really wouldn’t.” – namely, because you don’t have the balls too. - “Don’t say that you would; once you kill someone it kind of fucks with your head, the second time is a little less eventful, and by the fourth or fifth time it’s just second nature. The reason I didn’t slit his neck right then and there, was because I made a promise to Markus.” The answer quenches Dave’s curiosity.

          She pulls up to the front of a familiar two-story home, that fits snuggly, beside two other houses that shared a similar design. Dave mindlessly glides across the pint-size yard, with Mindy hot on his heel, to the front door. This is an indescribable moment, for Dave, no matter how simple it may seem to the untrained eye. After being someone’s possession, you've been stripped away of your basic rights as a human being; you don’t get a home, a family, friends, clothes, or the ability to make your own choices. From experiencing such psychological torture, Dave had given up hope of ever returning home. It’s as if he is dreaming, after all, he did witness Hit Girl’s death. This couldn't possibly be the cruel reality he knew so well. With a shaky hand, he gives a sad attempt to open the door. Finally, the hero accomplishes the semi-difficult task of opening a door he never thought he’d open again.

         “Home again, home again,” Dave solemnly whispers the two words, repeatedly, to himself. Mindy enters shortly after him.

         “Go pack up some clothes, and leave a note for your dad or something.” The sharp demands Mindy gives go unchallenged by Dave. “I’ll be waiting down here, okay?” The hero just nods in response. Hit Girl peels out of the black and violet leather suit. The ex-mercenary swaps out the outfit for something more comfortable. She pulls over her head a gray hoody with white draw strings, slides into a black pair of skinny jeans with a numerous amount of rips, and her feet slip into a black pair of converse. After finishing the tedious task of changing; she waits for Dave on the living room couch while going over the email messages on her phone. A thought comes into play as she stares down at the luminescent screen; she needs to tell Marty that Dave would be staying with them for a while. The ex- mercenary's fingers dance across the glowing screen to type out...

        (Mindy)-A friend of mine just got out of an unhealthy relationship with their boyfriend. They don’t have anywhere to go; so I told them they could stay with us for a while. Is that okay? She waits for him to reply to her vague and untruthful story.

        The ex- mercenary doesn’t even bother to specify the gender of this “friend” to her adoptive father. Mindy is well aware that Marty would never turn down a person in need, but if she didn’t give him a heads up about their guest he would be pissed. The ex- mercenary's phone chimes and displays Marty’s response

        (Marty)-I don’t see anything wrong with that; as long as it’s only for a while.

        Dave rushes upstairs; he trips over the top step and almost face-plants. Once he gathers his composure, he continues on the path to his bedroom. While shuffling through his things like a numb, emotionless puppet, beings to feel unstable… as if his mind is two seconds away from splitting into a sobbing sack of shit and into hilarious happy hysteria. He collects a sizable proportion of his closet and stuffs it into a comically small duffel bag. The hero manically laughs to himself, now feeling sick from the overabundance of emotions, oddly happy about the madness that threatens to consume him. He nabs a yellow notepad, from his desk, along with a black ink pen to scribble down a message for his father.

        —Dad, I’ll be staying at a friend's house for a while. If you need me just call.

        See you soon. It’s not much of a message but it's enough to slate his father's questions; as long as he texts his dad a few times throughout the day, his father wouldn't have any issues with the absence of his son. With that, he unenthusiastically exits the house alongside Mindy.


	5. Demise Brought by his Brown Eyes

        After about a week of recovery at Mindy’s house; Dave has come to the conclusion that its time to depart from William’s residential. The majority of the hero’s injuries are healing with the exception a small sum of scabs and a few patches of purple skin. “I can’t thank you enough, Markus, for putting up with me.”

        When Markus Williams, sergeant of the NYPD, first saw the battered teen he was more than concerned. Dave’s displayed all the signs of a rape victim, this went farther than the normal cases of abuse; this was the workings of a sadist who had likely captured the boy. A surplus of questions swarmed his mind. What was this kid hiding, why wouldn’t he alert the police, and was it Mindy that saved this boy or Hit Girl; Questions like these began to fade as soon as he bonded with the awkward teenager? Dave didn’t shed any light onto how or why he was so badly injured. The hero was quick in worming his way into the family of two's heart. The boy had an overwhelming sense of justice, not like Mindy or Damon’s warped ideology of justice, he always showed interest in Markus’s line of work. Little did Markus know, the only reason Dave cared so much wad because he was desperately trying to numb his mind by chalking his head full of trivial information. On the 3rd or 4th day of Dave’s stay he insisted that Markus brought him on a ride along or investigation; Being the usual pushover that he was, Markus complied with the boy’s request. He did enjoy the boy’s company, unlike Mindy, Dave wanted to spoke up all the information he presented.

        With a heavy heart, Markus replies, “Your more than welcome to stay longer; it’s really no trouble.” Mindy stands to the side of the cop with her arms crossed nodding in agreement. “If this ever happens again, tell me, I’ll personally take care of it.” His voice drips with sweet sincerity. He sounds like a father whose claiming down his child after being bullied.  
        “Thanks… again. I would take you up on that offer, but my dad is probably wondering if I’m still alive.” Dave chuckles to himself, but in all seriousness, his father’s texts stopped coming in on Wednesday… after he receives a weird message from his dad. The last text he received was – Please come home soon Dav.L073-UD3@MC0. Dave didn’t think anything of it then but now it’s unnerving; his dad never was one to spam someone’s phone with nonsensical gibberish.

        Mindy tugs Dave out of his thought with a light shove forward, “Let’s go, we don’t need to drag out these fucking farewells this long, you’ll be back sooner than you know it.” She leads the hero to her purple Ducati 1199 Panigale. “Let’s your ass home.” The two teen hop on the motorcycle; just before they’re out of Markus’s line of vision, the hero sends the police sergeant a wave for a final goodbye. Buildings rush away while Mindy speeds through the streets, it’s monotonous, Mindy darts around the clusters of cars and with sparing too much time the two find their way to the Lizewski house.

        Dave’s transition from the life of a villain’s personal sex puppet to the life of a real boy; isn’t an easy one. Though the hero believes with all his heart, that he’s cut all his strings from his puppeteer’s manipulative fingers, but he fails to see that some of the ties that continue to bind him to Chris. With watchful eyes trailing the hero clad in green; from a span of moments ranging from intimate to trivial. Not a sneeze goes by that Chris isn’t aware of.

        “See you around,” Mindy hums the words out; as the closest thing, she has to family distances himself from her.

  
         In a detached tone, he offers her the weak retort, “Yeah… probably.” The two words sting the ex- mercenary’s ears, creating an uproar of thoughts running ramped in her head. For a minute she forgets that this isn’t Dave talking, this is a victim’s voice. All week he was acting as if he was okay, but now that he’s home the façade is fading. He enters the home, without gracing Mindy a wave goodbye or even looking back at her. After entering the house; in Dave’s mind she’s already disappeared, and has washed her hand of the hopeless hero. Ultimately Dave believes he’s been nothing but a burden to the already troubled girl.

        “Dad? Dad? Hello?” The boy’s preconization goes without acknowledgment. Though no one answers Dave call, it goes without saying that someone is or at least was indeed here. After tagging along on a few of Markus’s investigations, Dave had developed his deductive skills to an admirable level that most could not achieve. In the living sits a stale cup of Folger’s coffee near the couch where James Lizewski is usually parked, the television continues to play, the house is filled with the unsettling scent of decay. It’s evident that the scent belongs to none other than Mr. Lizewski, although this is fairly obvious Dave refuses to recognize this as a possibility. “I know your home” he calls out as if nothing is off about his surroundings. With the air under his feet urging him upstairs, the hero ventures to his room knowing that whatever's behind his bedroom door is the source of the haunting fragrance.

  
        Albeit fear has begun to feast on his thoughts, Dave opens his bedroom door. Each drawer of his dresser is uprooted from its previous position and dumped on the floor next to the discarded body of someone Dave wishes he couldn’t identify.

        A video on his computer plays in a loop of what might have been his father’s last moments as a belt approaches his dad’s he can hear him whisper, “Dave I love you.” It repeats again “Dave I love you,” and again “Dave I love you.” The words burn into Dave skull until only thing he can hear is, “Dave I love you. Dave, I love you.” A belt is coiled around the neck of the body that has been dressed in a green wetsuit; the corpse left hand wielding a severed dick while the right hand gives a thumbs up. The unfortunate soul’s eyes have torn for their sockets, marbles have been deposited in their stead. An M that mirrors the one carved into Dave’s back has been dug into the inanimate man’s forehand. Both corners of the mouth are sliced to the cheeks forging an unsightly smile. What used to be Jame Lizewski lies in a pool of blood completely vandalized by the hands of a psychopath.

  
        “The bastard is trying to send a message.” Chris has violated every ounce of privacy Dave believe he owned; his laptop (probably history and all), his music, his clothes, his home, and what used to be his family. The villain had gone through his computer, his backpack, his clothes, and everything else the hero owned.

  
\-- _Looks like we all have our sick fetishes, and I think mine’s you. <3_

  
        Dave’s screams without giving the slightest attempt to control the volume of his voice. Out from his windowsill pours out Mindy. “Dave!” He can’t hear Mindy he can hear the words—Dave, I love you. “DAVE!” He remains unresponsive.  
*SMACK*  
        “SNAP out of it!” The back of Mindy’s hand matches the red glow of Dave's cheek.  
         Quietly Dave mumbles, “I killed him… I did this… I murdered my father…” Tears stream down his face.  
        “What?”  
        “I am the coward who wanted back his life back… I got it. Without thinking that it would cost someone their life. This is because of me.”  
        “Yeah, it is your fault.” She huffs out the words without filter any of thought. “Your also the root of my dad’s death, but he loved you… Dave. I don’t your father, but…” she takes notice of the repeating voice on the video, “it sounds like he loved you as well. That being the case, you should feel like shit, but know that you're not doing them any favors, by wallowing here.” Dave nods and whips his watery eyes.

        “You're right. What do I now… what can I do now?”

         Mindy wraps her arms around Dave’s shuttering body; squeezing his shaking form slightly. “You can come with—”

         He interrupts her before she can finish. “I’m talking long term, Mindy.” Dave’s state of panic is reasonable to Mindy, but at the moment making a plan for the future shouldn’t be Dave’s main priority.

  
         Delicately she slices through the seams of the Kick Ass wetsuit Mr. Lizewski is wearing; if Markus saw the costume he would likely assume it was connected to Hit Girl. “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we get to it, but right now let just focus on the present.” Mindy pulls off the garb. “Let's tell Markus what happen he’ll have the entire police force hunting down Chris De’Amco’s ass.”

         “What good will that do!?” Dave scoffs with derision. The ex- mercenary just brushes off the comment and pulls out a cell phone. She types as though her finger are fire.

         "Dave... I'm trying to be helpful I REALLY am, but my patience is wearing thin. So if your just going to sit around a bitch like a middle schooler on her period take you're fucking tampons and shove em' up your ass." 

         Dave scoffs, "That's not where tampons go."

         "Shut the fuck up Dave." Dave screws his mouth shut the second she ends her warning. 

–(Mindy) Markus can you come to 4688 Grove Street, it’s an emergency  
–(Markus) What’s wrong? Are you okay?  
–(Mindy) Dave’s dad has been murdered… and mutilated.  
–(Markus) I’m on my way this very minute, just hold tight and try to keep Dave calm.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meh... :P

            It is undeniable Chris De’Amico who had committed this heinous crime; the NYPD, however, doesn’t desire to aggravate Frank De'Amico further; so the case is placed on hold. Dave stands outside of the room with Mindy at his side; the wait for Markus to stride out of the hero’s bedroom with some palatable news. A warm hand perches on Dave's shoulder and is shortly followed by a comforting voice.

            “I am so sorry, Dave, this never should've happened. There’s not much we can do.” He genuinely looks distraught, “if it was anyone else that bastard would—”

             Dave broken voice interjects, “I know. It’s ok Markus… I know you tried. I didn’t think that anything would come out of this, I just want people to know that there’s a cold-blooded murder out there.” The teen wraps his arms around his self to calm himself.

             A smile graces Marcus' face from the thoughtfulness of this kid is, even when he’s been stripped of his last family member. “That’s very noble, I can’t I would’ve done the same if I were in your shoes.” He cards his fingers through the curly mess of hair on Dave’s head. Markus turn to Mindy, “Let's go home kiddo.” She nods and trails behind him; Dave just watches them shrink as their distance grows.

            “What the fuck Dave!” Mindy turns around to see her friend standing as still as a statue. “Come on.” Marcus laughs for a second at her bold choice of words but then stops himself to scold her. Dave just looks perplexed while gazing at the two.

            Marcus gives a sad smirk and says, “Dave, you can’t stay here—” Mindy interrupts semi-excite, but trying to maintain appropriate level solemness in regards to the current situation. “so you're going to stay with us.” Both the police sergeant and ex- mercenary wanted to take Dave into their happy home of two, but unfortunately, Dave already belonged to his family. Now is time to strike since Dave is without a home or family.

            Dave looks back to his room as if something was holding him here, and then it dawns on Marcus that the kid wants his belonging. Marcus collects a few of Dave’s thing, books, laptop, and hand-held game consoles. Mindy gathers a plethora of comics and posters; the laptop is crime evidence, but this offense would likely end without the convict receiving as much as a slap on the wrist. Marcus decides not to instruct Dave to collect so memorabilia of his father, the chapter in Dave’s life would come to a close once Mr. Lizewski is resting underneath the earth. “Okay, I think we’ve got everything you need. We should head out soon.” The police sergeant goes to his SUV to deposit his soon-to-be son’s stuff while Mindy is leading Dave into the car. Although the passenger’s seat is vacant Mindy decides to sit in the back with Dave, he gives her an odd look but then gets lost in thought. The hero glances about the car before he set his sight on the review mirror where Marcus’s eyes look fondly at Dave’s before he asks, “Ready to go home?” It’s a bold question to ask someone who just lost their real home, but to Dave, it seems sickeningly sweet.

            “Why are you helping me? Aren’t you afraid that you’ll end up like my dad? He’s only doing this to break me down, and it’s working wonders.”

             “No, I not afraid for Mindy or myself. I know very while Mindy is more than capable of taking care of herself, and I am well versed in handling dicey situations. More than anything, I’m afraid you’ll get hurt.” Everything Marcus says is back by basic logic to Dave, but some small voice is his head is telling him to run as far as his legs can take him. “You’ll be the safest here with us.”

             “He already knows that,” Mindy quietly remarks as if she were offended by her friend's lack of security. “it’s just that…” she doesn’t want to say the last part, namely because somewhere in her heart she believe it’s her fault Dave’s dad is dead. Having dealt with various psychopaths, drug lords, rapists, etc. she knew this could have happened and chose to ignore it.

             “Thank you, Marcus.” Marcus nods in acknowledgment and begins to drive to their destination.

             “What about me?” Mindy snorts out sarcastically. Dave looks at her in disbelief; of course, she wants some recognition, it’s only natural.

             “Thank you, Mindy. I’m grateful to have a friend as loyal, and as patient as you.” The hero says this with sincerity spewing from each word. If Mindy hadn’t saved him; he’d probably commit suicide, not that he isn’t still contemplating it. She looks dumbfounded by the statement but saddened by it all the while.

              So Marcus can’t hear she whispers a hushed retort, “I know, you would’ve done the same.” The trio spends the rest of the ride in silence. Dave even lulls himself to sleep; only black nothingness greets him in his dream. His name is being called out from the distance. “Dave, Dave, Dave wake up.” The ex-mercenary grip the teen by the arms and shakes him like a maraca. “We’re home.”

             “Alright, alright, you can stop with that now.” Dave’s slowly pries his eyes open, immediately light floods his vision, and two smiling figures towering over him. Dave gets out of the car, and the three of them gather his belongings. After collecting the last of the hero’s possessions, he spends the rest of the afternoon arranging his things in his designated room. All the familiar things make this space feel like his own, but at the same time, it crawls under his skin.


	7. Wanna know something crazy?

Markus excepted Dave into his family without hesitation. The hero’s life had finally begun to reach some level of normalcy; no matter how much he convinced himself that he was in the clear, subconsciously Dave knew that he is always under surveillance.

  
Every second of the day Dave can sense eyes burrowing into his body, he knows that the walls are listening and of the shadows slithering around his body in the silence of his slumber. Frequently the troubled teen would have a dream; unfortunately, tonight is no expectation.

  
Soft strokes ghost across the hero’s chest. Coarse fingers grind up against the boy’s nipples, pinching, twisting the small sensitive buds. “S-stop,” Dave moans, but the shadowy specter continues to operate on the alluring body that lays before him. Dave seals his eyes shut, hoping to steal himself away from the sickening scenario, regardless he is acutely aware of the criminal’s presence.

  
“How can I?” The voice drips with lust. His tongue flicks at Dave’s left nipple; a whimper escapes Dave from the odd sensation on his chest. “Adorable.” Chris thoughtlessly sighs out the word, as if he were enchanted by the bruise blemished body bellow him. “You can ONLY be this cute for me,” Although Dave can’t see who the person is, though it’s not quite a stab in the dark to assume it’s Chris. “Moan for me, Dave.” Chris grinds his member into Dave’s crotch as showers his love in enough kisses to drown him in. Dave mewls from the sensation, his back arches, and toes curl. “Look like I hit the on switch, hmmm?”

“s-shut,” “uhh… up. I hate you.” Dave manages to squeak out his revolution through his husky voice. The words slice through the boys’ heavy breathes and explodes in Chris’s ears. Although he’d never admit it, all he wants to hear is Dave saying I love you, just anything other than the disgusting, hateful words Dave throws at the love-sick villain.

  
“Hate and love are one of the same. I hate you too.” He punctuates his testament by planting a kiss on Dave’s forehand.

  
“Fuck you.” Chris continues to fondle the non-consenting soul below him until hearing Dave whimper out, "Damon... help." 

“You’re the one who’s gonna gets fuck tonight. We’ll have to tighten your asshole soon; my mother knows just the guy.” Chris’s intentions are nothing short of deplorable “Your agony, your ecstasy they're both mine.” Chris peers down at the quaking form laying under him. Something as brilliant as liquid diamonds stream from Dave’s eyes and for a second the villain’s broken heart beats. “oh and always remember this... Damon is dead,” (Damon=Big Daddy)

   
After hearing that heart-wrenching fact something snaps in Dave's mind. With a nod, the hero acknowledges the undeniable truth Chris has stated. The villain smirks, every so happy to see that Dave understands his previous lover is no longer existent. A hand reaches up from Chris’s scalp its bony fingers tangle into his hair; it sends a rush down his spine. The hero if finally reciprocating his tender touches. Dave places his other hand on Chris right cheek, and his thumb rubs over the scratchy 12 o’clock shadow. The hero slowly brings his head in closer, inch by inch he closes the distance. Their noses are touching, their eyes are locked on one another, and everything else in the world seems to fade into the darkness. This undivided attention is all Chris ever wanted, to be the only thing in Dave’s sight, on Dave’s mind, and in Dave’s heart.

“You're right,” A seductive whisper slithers out of the hero’s mouth, “That’s why you should kill me.” As Dave articulates this somber sentence, Chris beings to crack. The hero’s hand slide off of Chris. These words are as hapless for

Dave to say as they are cruel for Chris to hear. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say THAT.”

Sharply Dave snaps, “Shut up.” He glares as the fluctuating facial expression of Chris dissolve into one, confusion. “I’ll say whatever the goddamn I please. And if you won’t do me this favor… I’m more than willing to take my li—” Chris swiftly covers the hero’s mouth with his hands, Only the muffled sounds of Dave fills the room.

“You wanna know something crazy?” Profusely swivels his head left to right, in order reject the offer, despite the hands hampering his movement. “Wrong answer. As the benevolent being that I am, I’ll graciously repeat myself. You wanna know something crazy?” This time around Chris forcibly directs Dave’s head to move up and down. “I would do just about anything, ANYTHING if it was for you. Kill, cheat, steal, lie, **make an ass of myself** , whatever you name it. Unfortunately for you, I’m not a fan of completion… your father, Big Daddy, Marty, and Evan are prime examples of that.”With those words, the water works in Dave’s eyes were switched back on yet again. Chris spouts off a few supposedly comforting things; chanting an ungodly amount of "there there's" and "It’ll be okays." However, soothing statements are said in vain. Dave heaves at the thought of the growing list of his dead companions; after all, he is the root of their deaths. Chris sighs now feeling the full weight of his failure to comfort his love; he kisses his hands that cover Dave’s lips. It’s an endearing gesture, but to the hero, it only defines his faulty fate. Fear and grief flare in Dave’s eyes, but it only pisses the unwanted visitor off. Chris’s head hovers just above Dave’s; there is nowhere the hero can look without having the undesirable image of the villain in his line of sight. Chris sucks in some air and weakly murmurs, “You wanna know something crazy?” He doesn’t wait for Dave to respond, or make Dave answer before saying, “I don’t have to… I don’t want to be the bad guy, but you turn me into this.” The villain retracts his hands; he observes his palms. “I didn’t want it to be like this.” The confession is sincere, but it seems sinister to Dave. Chris’s fingers claw at his skull. The nails scrape away the top lay of flesh at the top of his head. Chris goes on to elaborate, “You were supposed to love me the way I love you. **NOT** Damon... but he won't be a problem anymore.”

“You wanna know something crazy,” Dave mocks the repeated phrase Chris seemed to have taken on out of the blue, “the best love stories end with death, I suggest it be mine.” An unsavory smile spreads across Dave's face. “A bullet to the head." The hero acts as if his hand was a gun, with his finger pressed against his temple he pretends to pull the trigger and blow his brains out. "Slit my wrists. Slice my throat. I could make myself a noose to break my neck. Put rat poison in my food, or maybe I could overdose. I could drive into a lake, jump off a building, or electrocute myself in the bath. Stay in the garage with the car running, run into oncoming traffic, or I could burn myself alive. Get mauled by some huge animal, there are countless ways to kick the bucket.” The crooked grin slathered across Dave’s face sets Chris on edge. While the broken hero plans his demise, Chris grimaces in silence. “I never wanted to kill myself before I met you, but it's all I can think of.”

“Watch what you say,” Chris snarls out, “you're not going to die on my watch. So help me if you make the slightest attempt to end your life, I will dig out from your shitty grave and make your fucking heart beat once more. After that your life will be a nightmare, not even the devil himself could dream of; You bet your ass I kill everyone who touches or talks to you, I’ll severe your vocal cords and I cut your limbs off. You can’t escape me in life or death.”  
Chris can feel his cock twitch in delight from his fantasy Dave. Sadly his glorious daydream is cut short by four devastating words,“I wish you’d die; then I wouldn't have to.” The villain knows this fact better than anyone, better than Dave even; nevertheless, it feels like the hero stabbed his hands through Chris’s chest and started to clench his heart.  
Weakly the villain retorts,“I do everything I do for no one other than you.” Chris's eyes dart to a plan clock hanging over Dave’s bed, in the depths of his eyes panic flashes. Chris stuffs his hand into his pocket his fingers fumble around until finally finding a small vile and a linen napkin. He spills the contents of the small container onto the napkin. “Hold still.” He demands Dave’s compliance, in his eyes shines a threat to Dave, normal the hero would’ve been resilient and ignored the order. Though this clearly isn’t the time for that. With only a glance at Chris body language, from the man’s clenched jaw, his beating eyes, his protruding veins, it can easy to conclude that Chris is teetering on the edge of his questionable sanity. Idly he lays on his bed, as lifeless as a statue, he dares not even blink. Chris covers his nose and mouth with the dampened cloth, and with a few breathe Dave begins to drift to sleep. “Sweet dreams, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any suggestions on where I should go with this? I want to continue writing this but... yeah


	8. Any subjections :P

(º-º) I have an idea how I want to end this but, mehhh   
I would LoVe some suggestions


End file.
